


War of Change

by BAPWarrior118



Series: This Untraveled Road [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Azazel's Special Children (Supernatural), BAMF Women, Banter, Blood Play, Brotherly Bonding, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, Canon-Typical Violence, Champions, Character Study, Communication, Confident Sam Winchester, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester Has Powers, Dean Winchester is Not Heterosexual, Demons Are Assholes, Domestic Fluff, Episode Related, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Female Character of Color, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Healthy Relationships, Hugs, M/M, Mating Bond, Minor Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Original Character is not Heterosexual, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Dreams, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective OFC, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Siblings, Quote: Saving people hunting things (Supernatural), Rewrite, Romance, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam still has a hair kink, Sexual Humor, Slay to Save, Slayer Handbook, Slayers, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Soul Bond, Strong Female Characters, Supportive Dean Winchester, Trust, Vampire Slayer(s), but not in the traditional sense, episode rewrite, until it's not, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BAPWarrior118/pseuds/BAPWarrior118
Summary: THE ROAD SO FAR…The Winchesters met their bespoke Slayer, shifting the balance of their lives and unknown to them, the fate of the world. The Catalyst awakened new paths, altered goals, and shifted motivations. Like a drop in a pond transforming into a tsunami. As intended. Six Special Children survived Cold Oak. Four Slayers fought at the opening of the Devil’s Gate. One Slayer met death and lived. One Slayer confessed and vanished. All the while, two beings of undefined purpose watched and plotted. None could have predicted the drastic turn of events caused by the union of Slayers and Champions.NOWDemons and hunters scramble to make sense of the new world order. Some revel in the change. Some attempt to fix the balance. Others struggle to carry out carefully constructed plans. In the meantime, the Winchesters navigate what it means to be Champions. The Catalyst comes to understand her true gift. And the purpose of The Connected becomes clear.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: This Untraveled Road [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257086
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	War of Change

**Author's Note:**

> New Year, new season...!
> 
> But I'm back on my bullshit. :)
> 
> I wasn't supposed to post this until after I finished _Sins of Another_ , but here I am and here we go--Season 3. Let's get it!
> 
> This is in no way a standalone piece of fanfiction. You must read part one of the series in order to grasp the development of both Dean and Sam. Part 2 is optional, though.

Ringing pulled Sam from sleep. He lay still for a moment longer before twisting his body to the left. His cell phone lied on the end table underneath the lamp. It rang loudly and he inhaled deeply as he reached for it. He answered the call, pressing the phone to his ear. Despite the darkened motel room, his eyes slid to the right of the bed, noting the lack of another body. “Hello,” he greeted, voice groggy. He rubbed his fingers against his forehead before running hand through his hair. Sam recognized Bobby’s return greeting. “Hey, how are you?”

“How are _you_?” Bobby questioned. “Sounds like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“… You can say that,” Sam retorted, glancing at the right side of the bed again. Sighing lightly, he reached to switch on the lamp’s light. “Calling to check on us again? Well, everything’s about the same. Dean’s still holed up at Cassie’s, doing God knows what. Tracee’s still quiet… distant. I’m still researching.”

“I guess none of you have found anything yet, huh?” Bobby muttered. Sam snorted lightly. Understatement of the year. None of them had no idea where to look in the first place. Best guess, a demon had taken Cassie Robinson for whatever nefarious plan. However, tracking the demon that had taken her proved to be a struggle. An uphill battle of _zilch_. According to his brother, it might not have even been a demon. But Dean had not been heavy with the details of why he thought the guy hadn’t been a demon. Therefore, even though the three of them were trying their hardest, a lead had not popped up yet. And, at this rate, finding Cassie seemed futile. But hell if he wanted to admit that to either his brother or girlfriend.

The only thing they had was a possible motivation. The demon, or whatever it was, took Cassie because of her Slayer status. Slayer. That had come as a surprise. Admittedly, though, it explained quite a bit. In hindsight. Tracee had known all along. Since the first time they met, she and Cassie had been keeping it a secret. Sam had been shocked, but mostly indifferent to it. Dean, however, had been agitated and tense since he had told them. Tracee, as though expecting the lashing from Dean, shrank into a ball. She had not uncurled herself in the days following.

As of late, both Dean and Tracee were not on speaking terms. After doing their best to investigate the disappearance—and finding nothing substantial—the three of them traveled to Cape Girardeau to maybe find a hint of a lead. After all, Cassie had mentioned to Dean prior to the kidnapping that she had dreamed of him. A Slayer dream. This meant that the thing was important enough to trigger foresight. Whether good or bad.

Unfortunately, they had hit a roadblock. That had not stopped either Dean or Tracee from trying. Even with the more tangible problem at hand. It had been five days since the gate opened, releasing hundreds of demons. Nearly a full week of… zilch on that front as well. Unexplained storm clouds over seventeen cities for a single night. After that, nothing happened. Sam supposed he should count his blessings, but he knew better than that. Soon enough, the other shoe would drop. He just hoped that they didn’t have to scramble in picking up the pieces. But right now, it seemed the three of them were divided. All because of the lack of communication. Maybe he was being needy, but he missed the easiness between them.

“No,” Sam finally answered. He cleared his throat, moving to sit up. “Have you found anything?”

“Not about Cassie, no,” Bobby replied. “I don’t think so, anyway, but it’s something to look into. This is the first odd thing that’s happened since that night in Wyoming. A crop failure and a swarm of cicadas descended just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska.”

“Cicadas…? Bobby, no offense, but I don’t think they’re gonna be pried away from this state because of a bug problem,” Sam remarked.

“Hey, from the way you talk, all of you need a break,” Bobby said. Of course, a break meant another potential job. Sam forced himself not to sigh heavily. “Whether it’s a lead or a distraction, it might be good for the three of you to stop _wallowing_. Now, pack your bags and meet me there.” The older hunter disconnected the call, not waiting to hear any more protests.

Sam pursed his lips, lowering the phone from his ear. Maybe Bobby had been right. Despite the search for any type of lead on Cassie’s disappearance, they seemed to be at an impasse. These were not the usual circumstances, but the way they danced around each other—just short of avoiding—could not go on forever. Maybe they did need to think of something other than a fruitless endeavor. At least for a little while. Maybe something else unrelated to Cassie might jumpstart an idea of where to go next. Sighing to himself, Sam pushed the bedspread from his body and shifted to sit at the edge of the bed.

Just as he moved to stand, the door of the motel room opened. Tracee walked in, shutting the door behind her. However, upon noticing him, she stopped short. She appeared caught, and it caused Sam to frown. Wearing dark yoga pants and a blue sports bra, she obviously had gone out in the middle of the night to workout. A fine sheen of sweat covered her visible skin, though she did not breathe any differently. “You’re up,” she greeted after an awkward moment of silence. Her arm stretched to flip the light switch on her right. The overhead light flickered on as she continued to the desk. She busied her hands by carelessly leafing through one of the many scattered books. Books that had not helped.

“So are you,” Sam pointed out. He glanced at the digital clock on the television stand. It was almost four in the morning. Going back to sleep was probably not going to happen. He returned his focus back to his girlfriend. She had stopped pretending to look through another useless book. “Just got off the phone with Bobby. He… He thinks he’s found something. A lead on what the demons could be up to. I figure we go check it out. At least to get our minds off…” His words faded as Tracee turned to stare at him. She frowned as well. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I think taking some time off searching for Cassie might help in the long run.” Tracee lifted her arm, nails lightly scratching at her neck. She would not look at him, but she opened her mouth.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” Sam repeated.

“ _Shyeah_ ,” she replied, shrugging. Eyes on the floor, she continued. “Anything must be better than… doing nothing. Any type of answer is better than nothing at this point.” Huh. Maybe she was fed up, too. Sam understood the change within her, though. Tracee reacted to the loss around her. The loss of her best friend. The loss of her sword. The loss of her life. Her subdued reaction made sense, so, yes, he understood perfectly. Sam only wished she would open up to him about it. At her own pace, he reminded himself. After all, his Slayer was in the middle of _grieving_. It had only been five days. She would come around, eventually, and he would do his best to comfort her. But right now, it felt like a chasm between them. He missed her. “So, I’ll go take a shower and you can break the news to your brother.”

“Hold on,” Sam said, halting her movement for the bathroom. She turned to him and he gestured her closer with a wave of his hand. Tracee took a visible breath before altering her route and heading for him. Sam lifted his other arm, hand settling on her hip. He directed her to sit sideways on his lap. To his relief, his girlfriend softened immediately at his touch and leaned into him. Maybe he could take the chance to coax something out of her. “I know you’re frustrated, but we’ll get through this.”

“… I know,” Tracee murmured. Sam pressed a kiss to her temple, hoping she would continue. “I just hate feeling this way. Useless and afraid.” She had nightmares. Sam had witnessed the tossing and turning. Her quiet cries. Her violent trembling. Trapped in a nightmare, he had not been able to comfort her at the time. Then, of course, she chose to leave their bed before waking him. He was a little frustrated, too. “I don’t… I don’t want to be seen like this. That’s why-”

“Hey, I get it,” Sam said, hand soothingly rubbing her back. She leaned further into him as a result. He almost smiled. “But you know you don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you—always.”

“I know,” she repeated. Finally, she shifted her head, brown eyes looking into his own. “I know,” she said again. Her lips lightly pressed to the corner of his mouth. “You’re so good to me, my love.” She kissed his jaw, and then moved further down his neck. Sam tensed in anticipation for her bite. For the past three days, this had been the only comfort she would allow. His blood. Her teeth sank into his flesh, and Sam inhaled sharply. The first time, it had been instinctive, she told him. His blood was not a beacon—not like before—but she could not deny the urge to bite down harder than normal and draw it into her mouth. Having his blood sucked felt odd. In a pleasurable sense. Damn near euphoric. Maybe because he trusted her. Maybe because he wanted her to take it a step further. Saying the word with the bite. _Mine_. But she did not. Not yet.

Tracee slowly reared back, making sure her tongue lapped up any excess. Sam shivered a bit, cracking his eyes open. Tracee softly and repeatedly kissed his neck, affectionate and placating. She rubbed her nose against his skin, practically inhaling his scent. “Tracee…” Sam found himself whispering her name. She whined softly in agreement. Encouraged by the sound, he turned, moving Tracee to the bed. He hovered above her, holding himself up by pressing his palm against the mattress beside her head. The other hand gripped her right shoulder. He returned the intimate gesture of nuzzling her neck.

Then he sank his teeth into her left shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of her, like this, was unlike anything he knew. Sure, he could compare it to something like his own blood. After all, he had been hurt enough to taste his own blood in his mouth. Tangy and coppery. However, with Tracee… maybe it was an acquired taste. The taste had changed from the first time he experienced it. There was no comparison because he had not had anything like it before. If he had to describe it, then he could only say the blood tasted like _her_. Like Tracee. A rich, unique substance that warmed his insides. Just short of addicting. Maybe.

Finished, Sam swiped his tongue across the small incision. He had gotten good at using just his sharpest tooth to leave a mark instead of an entire mouth print. Like her, he lightly kissed the mark before lifting himself off her. Hers would heal in a few hours. His would remain, especially since she bit the same spot every time. Sam licked his lips, staring down at her. She returned the look, and, maybe for the first time in the last few days, her gaze was open. She smiled at him, too. He had missed seeing the slight gap between her front teeth. Unable to help himself, he kissed her pretty mouth. Soundly. He felt her smile grow, and that made him smile, too. Tracee cupped his cheeks and kissed him in return.

“Join me for my shower?” she requested, barely breaking the kiss.

“You don’t have to ask,” Sam told her. He then reared all the way back into a standing position. Since her legs wrapped securely around him, it was easy to pull her up as well. Her yelp sounded more like giggles. She wrapped her arms around him as well. “I’m always willing.” He sharply turned, eliciting another giggle from her, and headed into the bathroom.

0-0

He dreamed of her last night. Well, truthfully, Dean had dreamed of her every night since her disappearance. Her and the familiar stranger that had taken her. Last night’s dream had been different, though. It hadn’t been random desires or heated arguments—what might happen when he found her. It had been a memory. Almost real. Like he had merged with his past self and had only been along for the ride. He thought he had forgotten about it. He thought he had buried it deep enough. On purpose, too. Because thinking about the memory before now would have been suicide. Now, he could recall the memory and feel only a mild stinging. The memory of himself realizing that he could love her.

It had been a mundane time between them. No music coursing through his veins with realization. It had just been an _oh_ moment. Well, honestly, it had been an _oh no_ moment. Cassie had been finishing up a school project—something for her major—while Dean had lied on her bed. They had exchanged banter throughout, and then she just said something that crashed into his entire body. They had been exchanging pieces of themselves for nearly three weeks before then. Dean had not realized that he had given so many pieces, but apparently, it had been enough for Cassie to deduce a childhood dream he had long buried. A firefighter.

Without meaning to, she had come to _know_ him. Know why he would hate being a cop. Why he would have chosen fireman instead. _You like to help people without restriction_ , she had said. As an offhand remark, no less, but it had been a profound moment for him. Someone had come to understand a core value within. Then she had gone on to brush aside the bounty hunter profession as family business—not something he actually wanted. Because of that, he had begun to question it. Begun to understand why Sam had left. Because of Cassie, Dean had begun to want something outside his dad’s work. He had begun to want something for himself. Just plain _want_.

It had been a frightening revelation. All of a sudden, he had been thinking things he should not have. Wanting things he should not have. Feeling things he should not have. All because of a one-night stand that had turned into several nights. Several nights had turned into _guess we’re dating now_. And _guess we’re dating now_ turned into boyfriend/girlfriend status. It hadn’t been the words by themselves, of course. Mostly, it had been the key to unlock a door Dean had not even known existed. The words opened that door and had him scrutinizing every past interaction between them. It had been that moment of startling clarity that made him realize how hard he had fallen. That had been too much at one time for him. Too much. Too soon. Right? And so, he had joked and covered up his real reaction.

Cassie, though, had persisted. She had encouraged him, and he had not been used to that, not along with understanding that he had been in love. He had not been able to deal. Hadn’t been able to deflect or pretend. So, he had opted to replace the intense, terrifying, shock with something familiar. Sex had been his go-to. And man, had he screwed her senseless then. Harder than ever before. Had them both walking funny. He had been almost desperate in the act. However, the thought had remained like a song he had not been able to get out of his head. _This is love. This is love. This is love_. So yeah, he had told her the truth half a week later. And she had slammed the door in his face. That moment became the biggest regret of his life. And now…

Dean sighed out, allowing the ice-cold shower water to fall down his back like shards. Palms pressed against the wall, his fingers curled. He lifted his head, staring at the tiled wall in a daze. Now, he could not do anything about what to feel. Cassie Robinson was gone, leaving him to pick himself up. Again. Another sigh left him. She was a Slayer. She had been taken because she was a Slayer. That was a whole other can of worms to pry open. Honestly, he did not want to think about it. But in the back of his mind, he realized the gravity of what it meant. Hell, if he was going to think about it yet. He would cross that bridge when he found her. If he found her.

Clenching his jaw, Dean pushed himself from the wall and turned the spray of water off. He had spent too long in the bathroom already. He had spent too long holed up in this house in the first place. The only thing in reference to the thing that took her had been what Cassie had written down in a dream journal. Now, she was good at writing things down, but it had not pointed him in any type of direction. As it stood, he had no idea how to track her or the mystery guy of her dreams. _Tch_. Really, he did not want to think about her dream either. Anyway, finding anything in her house turned out to be a bust. Dean was at the end of his rope, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. In other news, seemingly nothing had happened after the gate to Hell opened. Things were at a standstill.

Dean slid the purple shower curtain out of the way and stepped out. He quickly dried himself off and dressed before leaving the bathroom. Despite it being about four days, the place still smelled of her. He had invaded her space but her scent remained. Maybe that was the reason he had not stopped dreaming about her. Fortunately, it would be the last time. Dean went through the house, carefully putting things back where he found them. Cleaning up any evidence that he had been here in the first place. However, he took a few weapons from the secret room. A few books, too. Maybe later, they would come in handy.

Finished packing, he locked the door behind him, using her set of keys. Dean lightly rubbed the purple frilly keychain, shaped like a crescent moon, before slipping the set into his jacket pocket. It was time to head out. Leave the memories behind. For now. Finally, Bobby had learned of a bizarre happening in Nebraska. Sam had called earlier to tell him. So, he would focus on the job. One thing at a time. The distraction would be welcomed.

After a few minutes, Dean drove the Impala into a motel’s parking lot. Soon enough, he spotted Sam and Tracee outside the entrance of reception, already carrying their bags. Clearly, they had already checked out. He honked the horn, startling them out of whatever conversation. The two quickly made their way over. As the doors were unlocked, Sam and Tracee got in without trouble. “… Hey,” Dean greeted, sensing something off about them. Sam cleared his throat as he settled in the front passenger seat. Tracee remained quiet in the backseat. “Okay…” He knew it had been a few days since he saw their faces, but what was with this tension? Did they have a fight or something? “Where to? Bobby finally give a better destination other than _somewhere_ in Nebraska?”

“He said he’d text us the where once he has a clearer location to look at,” Sam said as Dean pulled out of the parking lot. “Right now, we don’t know much other than the massive crop failure. And the cicadas should not be swarming in the area—at least until 2021.” From the back seat, a groan of disgust slipped from Tracee’s mouth. Dean snorted in amusement. He would have loved to see her reaction from the swarm of cicadas a few years back. Bet she hardly went out during that summer. “Right now, it’s the only lead we’ve got on anything.” Dean nodded his head in agreement. “So-” Sam cleared his throat again. “How are you holding up?”

“ _Tch_. M’fine,” Dean answered, forcing himself to shrug. His brother, of course, responded with a disbelieving snort. He probably could not believe how easily Dean had agreed to the excursion. But there was nothing else to do in Cape Girardeau. On day three, he had been practically beating a dead horse. “If this is a lead to what the demons are up to, I’ll take it. Even if there aren’t any freaky deaths yet.” He huffed lightly. “Why aren’t there any freaky deaths, by the way? It’s been five days since Wyoming and _bupkes_. What are they waiting for?”

“Beats me,” Sam muttered, shrugging.

“Whatever it is, it’s driving me crazy,” Dean grumbled. “It’s not like we don’t have enough to worry about. Least they could do is knock on the door and say _hi_.”

“I am in _violent_ disagreement about demons knocking on our door, Dean,” Sam said.

“I’m just saying it’s weird we haven’t heard anything more than what Bobby found,” Dean pointed out. “Seventeen cities and not a peep after until now. If it’s even demon-related.” Again, Sam shrugged, obviously having no further comment to the complaints. Dean glanced at the rearview mirror, spying Tracee’s quiet demeanor. Her eyes focused on the outside of the car, seemingly not paying attention to the conversation. Wasn’t like her. Normally, she would have already brainstormed, tossing out one or two theories as to _why_. Well, this was not a normal circumstance. His Slayer had gone through a lot before this whole _all quiet on the western front_ thing. “You alright back there, Trace?”

The question seemed to startle her. Tracee glanced at the back of his head. Less than a second before her eyes return to the outside world zooming by. Apparently, she had not expected the concern. “I… I’m fine,” she murmured. Dean wondered if it had been a lie. He could practically feel the rigidity radiating off her. “… It could be the demons don’t know what to do,” Tracee continued after a pause. She furrowed her brow, appearing thoughtful. “After all, Capital D was in charge. I doubt his plan involved himself dying. Subordinates were let out, but there was no one to follow, so they didn’t know what to do with themselves. What is an army without a leader?”

“That’s a good point,” Sam remarked. “Maybe they’ve been in-fighting for that position. When we killed him, we must have left a power vacuum.”

“Or maybe it’s like what Cassie-” Tracee grimaced. Dean saw her gaze flicker to the back of his head again. He blinked in confusion. “-It just might be prisoners on the loose. They might have just been laying low until the heat dies down. Don’t want hunters to come down on them just when they’ve got out. Either way, it hardly matters now. There’s no preemptive measures we can do at the moment. We can only react to whatever move they make.” After that, she fell silent. With nothing to add, the rest of the car’s occupants remained silent, too.

It only took another fifteen minutes before Dean became annoyed with the silence. Of course, with long car rides, periodic silences were a given. However, in those silences, usually the three of them would do something else to starve off the boredom. Tracee read whatever book available. Sam had taken to doodling in a notepad. Dean hummed along to the radio, occasionally nudging his brother to join in. This particular silence was riddle with strain. And he did not know the reason for it. True, they weren’t having the best of times right now—what, with the dire goals hanging over their heads—but honestly, that was their version of normal, anyway. The three of them, together, learned to roll with the punches. Accept their reality and adapt to whatever situation. Having fun along the way. This was not fun, and Dean did not want to go back to the heavy.

“Trace, you sure you’re okay back there?” he questioned, looking at the rearview mirror again. He saw her blink, and then shift her eyes at him. Through the mirror, they made eye contact. Tracee furrowed her brow again, but her expression showed confusion this time. “I mean, are you up for this—whatever this is?”

“I’m… I’m dealing,” she replied, tone hesitant.

“Yeah, aren’t we all,” Dean muttered. “Don’t worry about all that stuff now. We’ll find what we lost eventually. We have to… Unless, you’re actually mad at Sammy boy for some reason? He in the doghouse again?”

“Again…?” Sam repeated, offended by the implication. “ _We’re_ fine!”

“Take a chill pill, Sam,” Dean advised with a roll of his eyes. “I was just asking.”

“… I thought… I thought _I_ was in the doghouse,” Tracee admitted. “I thought _you_ were angry with me. Is that not the case?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you? It’s not like _you_ forgot my birthday or something,” he joked.

“Dude, let it go,” Sam grumbled, exasperated.

“No way,” Dean retorted.

“I was under the impression that… you blamed me for Cassie’s disappearance,” Tracee quietly admitted. Still confused, Dean said nothing in response. “If I had told you about her, then maybe you would have been better prepared to stop whatever took her. Or something…” She trailed off, suddenly unsure. Then Dean realized the reluctant nature his Slayer emitted. She thought he would lash out at her because she kept a secret to herself.

“I’m not mad at you, Trace,” Dean stated. “Never was. I mean, I was pissed that I didn’t know about-about Cassie being a Slayer. But that was more towards her. _She_ is the one that didn’t tell me.” Truthfully, he was irritated he hadn’t seen it sooner. Things made a whole lot more sense in hindsight. But he realized that Tracee would never reveal someone’s secret. And whether he had known or not would not have mattered. Dean lightly rubbed his forehead where the stranger at touched him. Had instantly rendered him useless. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds before releasing a sigh. “I know you, Trace, and I wouldn’t get mad about a secret shared between best friends.” Still, if he had known, then… maybe he would not have done the same things regarding Cassie Robinson: Slayer, The. But that was a conversation between himself and Cassie.

“Really…?” Tracee asked, leaning forward a bit. “Forgive me if I’m a bit dubious.”

“I guess… if this were more towards the beginning of you joining us, I probably might have,” Dean confessed. “But like I said, I know you, and you wouldn’t go blabbing a friend’s secret. We’re all good, Trace.”

“If…” Finally, a smile formed. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he told her confidently. “So, now that that’s outta the way, let’s get back to _Apocalypse Now_.”

0-0

For the first time in nearly a week, Tracee’s good mood had not evaporated in the light of the morning sun. Perhaps because she had not dreamed of the fatal stabbing in Cold Oak. Perhaps because the added weight on her shoulders lessened somewhat. Perhaps because of the added comfort of traveling with both of her Champions again. Whatever the reason, Tracee was glad for the reprieve. She was so sick of swimming through negative emotions. No amount of meditation or shadowboxing had elevated the pressure. Pressure coming from all sides. If only Cassie had not disappeared without a trace. If only her katana had not been pilfered. If only there had been a game plan in the following days after Wyoming. Clearly, she had spent too much time thinking of _if only_. It had been better than to drown in sorrow because of those losses.

However, an alternative had appeared, and she, and her Winchesters, could now shift the focus on an immediate problem. Something they could actually do something about. Even with the insufficient signs of demonic activity, it had to be a step in the right direction. Had to. Hopefully, with this first step, they could come across leads of Cassie’s whereabouts or which hands now held the gifted katana. The gifted katana that could apparently kill demons.

Had her father known about it as he presented it to her? Had her mother known as he instructed her in swordplay? Those were questions had flitted through her mind, but asking them aloud to her parents in question might be a struggle. Tracee believed that she should not reach out to either of them for the moment. The FBI must be monitoring their activities, hoping to track her and the Winchester siblings. It had been too long since she had heard the voices of Victor Noland and Hayashi Junichi. The two had not been informed of the loss of their daughter. That death had snatched her away for a short while.

Tracee narrowed her eyes and frowned deeply. She forced the thoughts away. Of course, she knew it—her death—would not simply go away, but she could not allow it to hinder her. She could not allow it. Taking a deep breath, the Slayer shut her eyes for a moment. Right now, she would do well in thinking of the now. And right now, she and her Winchesters made it to Lincoln, Nebraska. They had found a motel last night. This morning, they had ventured out to meet Bobby Singer at an exact location on the outskirts of the city. Only now did the Impala come to a stop. Tracee blinked as Dean put his Baby in park. A short look at their surroundings indicated they were on private property. A large white home surrounded by miles of greenery. It appeared they were on a ranch. She could not see any animals, though. Or hear them.

As the front two window were rolled down, Tracee could hear the incessant buzzing of vile cicadas. She refrained from sobbing and instead shoved another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. They had stopped for it on the way here. She had gotten a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough. Dean had a chocolate cone. Sam had gotten an ice cream sandwich. They were all still in the process of eating. The brothers opened their respective doors and climbed out of the Impala.

“Hear those cicadas?” Sam asked, moving to open the back door. Tracee unbuckled her seat belt and took his offered hand. “Can’t be a good sign.”

“When have bugs _ever_ been a good sign?” Tracee mumbled, sliding out of the backseat. To her chagrin, both Sam and Dean chuckled. She huffed lightly, taking another look around. She spotted Bobby leaning against his own vehicle, watching their assessment of the area. “Sir Robert,” she greeted, walking towards the man, along with Sam and Dean.

“So, we eating ice cream for breakfast, are we?” the older hunter replied with a nod. “And it’s Bobby.”

“You brought me to a bug-infested environment!” Tracee retorted. “I need comfort _to live_!” Bobby rolled his eyes, but clearly shared Sam and Dean’s amusement. Tracee huffed again before quickly finishing off the pint. “Have you found anything more about this situation? Perhaps why there’s a swarm here of all places?”

“Well, let’s find out,” Bobby said, heading up to the house. “Looks like the swarm’s ground zero.”

“Trace, what do you got?” Dean questioned after shoving the rest of the cone in his mouth. She made a face at his manners but he only shrugged uncaringly. “You sense anything?”

“Not from this distance,” she replied. “I can’t sense anything right now.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious,” Sam remarked. Already done with his ice cream sandwich, he silently offered to take Tracee’s trash. She gave him the pint and spoon with a nod of her head. “Weapons at the ready.” Dean took out his pearl handle gun while she slipped a wooden stake from the waistband of her jeans. Satisfied, Sam left them to sit the trash on top of the hood the Impala. Dean groaned in displeasure but made no move to stop his brother. Sam returned to them, drawing his own gun. “Let’s go.”

“Gloves first,” Tracee reminded them.

After they slipped on latex gloves, they ascended the porch stairs. It appeared to a side door, though. The porch extended around the house, so she could not be certain. Pressing her lips together, she watched as Dean pounded on the door and shouted some inane title. A useful tactic to see if normal lived here. However, there was no response from the other side. After a pause, Dean pulled out the lock pick tools. Soon, the door was unlocked and he pushed it open. Even from her position behind both Sam and Bobby, her nose was assaulted by the intense smell of decomposition. Death. She nearly gagged on the brutal fragrance. Dean coughed and sputtered as he stepped inside the house.

“That’s awful,” Sam winced. Bobby only covered his mouth and nose. “Remind me to invest in masks.”

“Definitely,” Tracee muttered, eyes already stinging.

“This is _so_ not a good sign,” Dean said, going further into the house.

Sam stuck with his brother while Tracee chose to follow Bobby. They searched the left side of the house, going from room to room in search of anything strange. They did not find anything. However cautiously they moved, nothing popped out at them either. The smell became more potent the more they searched. Finally, they came across a living room area. The pungent smell nearly saturated the room, and with good reason. With the television on and blaring, a family of three sat on the couch. Dead. Flies made their bodies their new home, crawling over their decaying skin. Sam and Dean were already in the room, not bothering to hold back their disgust at the image in front of them.

“Bobby, what the hell happened here?” Sam asked, the back of one of his hands covering his mouth.

“I don’t know,” Bobby said, shaking his head.

“Man, I am _so_ regretting that ice cream,” Dean muttered, nose buried in his outstretched arm.

Tracee swallowed the bile in her throat and stepped into the living room. She bent her needs, lowering herself to examine the bodies. The bodies held the same discoloration. Skin and bones was an accurate description. However, that indicated starvation over a long period of time. Trace lightly pressed a finger to the dead woman. Hard with rigor mortis. She reached for her hair. Dry and brittle. She imagined the other two were the same. Still, she checked to confirm. Closer still, she looked closely at their eyes. Their expressions. Their positions. This entire scene was completely bizarre.

“They died at the same time,” Tracee announced, standing straight. “I’m not sure of exactly when, but this looks like… unnatural death?”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked.

“Like they just sat here and let death come,” Tracee said. “Look at them—they’re peaceful. I can’t give a guarantee of the _cause_ , but it certainly wasn’t violent. There’s no sign of struggle. No fear. If their bodies weren’t so grey, I would think they were just watching T.V. with not a care in the world.”

“Poison…?” Sam suggested.

“Perhaps, but poison is still an attack on the inside of the body,” she said. “Humans would _feel_ something wrong and react. Panic. Move in an attempt to find something to help them.”

“Suicide then?”

“Suicide is acceptance of death,” Tracee stated. “Victims shut their eyes if they know the end is near. Like falling asleep. But their eyes are open like they had no idea what was happening to their bodies. It’s unnatural,” she insisted. “But is it _super_ natural?”

“Check for sulfur,” Dean instructed. Following his lead, they searched the living room for the powdered substance. However, she did not believe they would find any. Sulfur had a distinct smell. Tracee did not believe the rot would overpower it. Still, it would not hurt to check thoroughly. Before she could begin her thorough search, Dean whistled. She looked his way to find him gesturing outside. Silently, he told the others to go around. Then he tilted his head, wanting her to back him up. Tracee nodded in understanding and moved closer.

Dean opened the front door, finger curling around the trigger of his gun. He cautiously peeked around before stepping onto the porch. Tracee moved again, but did not follow. Dean could handle surveying. She would be his backup. After a few quiet moments, the wood creaked under a sudden shift of weight. Of course, this intruder would wait until Dean’s back was turned. Quickly, the Slayer dashed through the door, intercepting the blitz attack. With her right hand, she grabbed the neck of the shotgun, halting its sweeping motion. Standing so close, she could see the dark eyes of a man. She wretched the shotgun from his hands and brought her leg to kick the side of his leg. The man crumbled to his knees. Trace twirled the shotgun in her hands, smacking the butt of it against the man’s face.

“Isaac…!” A woman shouted, approaching fast. She threw a punch, but Tracee only caught it. The woman’s dark brown eyes glared at her. “Who the hell are you?!” She had an English accent, Tracee noted. It was not enough for leniency. The Slayer twisted the woman’s arm, causing her to cry out. She then turned the woman’s body, pinning the arm behind her back, and forcibly pressed her against one of the porch’s columns.

“We should be asking you that, lady!” Dean retorted, coming closer only to aim his gun at the fallen man. “Who are you two?” The woman grimaced and struggled, but she would not be breaking the hold on her any time soon. “Well, the class is waiting.” Dean cocked his gun.

“Isaac? Tamara?” Bobby’s voice stole Tracee’s attention but she kept her eyes focused on the woman. She turned her head towards the older hunter’s voice. “Let her go, cupcake. They’re friends.” At his behest, Tracee released her vice grip on the woman, stepping backwards. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

“We could ask the same question,” the man, Isaac, groaned from his position on the ground. The woman, Tamara, moved to help him up. Together, the two stood opposite of them, sizing her up. Tracee did the same to them. She could not sense anything supernatural about them. Friends, Bobby had called them. Perhaps they were hunters. She narrowed her eyes not mollified in the least. “ _Heya_ , Bobby.” Isaac turned his attention to the man in question. Bobby reached out to grip the man’s extended hand. Just then, Sam came around the corner. She felt his approach, and her shoulders relaxed as he drew nearer. “Oh… This must be the Winchesters. And the black girl that travels with them.”

“… I’m going to break his arm,” Tracee announced, matter of fact.

“Trace,” Dean said.

“Forgive my husband,” Tamara urged softly. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve been around others. We… We’ve heard about the three of you.” Ah, yes. The Hunter Grapevine. How could she forget? “Please, we had no idea anyone else was here. What did you find?”

“First, we need to get out of here. Alert the authorities of the bodies inside,” Bobby suggested. “You two have a place nearby? We can discuss it there.” The couple glanced at one another, having a silent conversation. Finally, they both agreed with a tilt of their heads. “Great. Let’s go.”

0-0

Despite the less than stellar introduction, Isaac and Tamara invited them over. Nothing had been said, but Sam could tell. One, or both, probably attacked Dean. Hunters had a tendency of asking questions later, after all. Besides, he saw the shiner on Isaac’s face. Tamara had not come away unscathed either. She sported a bruise alongside her jaw. Sam could only assume Tracee had taken offense, which, in turn, offended the pair of hunters. Occasionally, their eyes would narrow in her direction as if they were recalling the event. As long as they did nothing in retaliation, Sam would let their glares slide.

Four now, the group of six remained holed up in an abandoned home. Isaac and Tamara had set up shop while they were in town. There were things in here that Sam had never seen before. He and Tracee perused, intrigued by the materials. Bobby checked over the trail the couple had composed while Dean spoke with someone on his cell phone. He had been attempting to get information about the three bodies for hours now. So, it more or less, turned into a waiting game. Perhaps the police, or whoever, could shed some light on what had actually happened at that house.

Sam believed that his girlfriend had been correct in her assumption, though. But he had never heard of anything like this—if it had been a supernatural thing that killed them. Neither had Bobby. If it had been supernatural, then the only logical explanation would be something worse had been let out of the Devil’s Gate.

“Honey, where’s the _Palo Santo_?” Isaac asked, ruffling through the various drawers scattered about the room. The ensuing banter caught Sam’s attention. He found himself smiling a bit as he watched the couple. They were so easy with each other. Warm and affectionate despite their current occupation. It was nice to see. Honestly, it reminded him of his relationship with Tracee. Only a bit, really. But he wondered if others might see the same when they looked at them in a few years. Clearly, Isaac and Tamara had been together for quite some time. “Thank you, dear,” Isaac said, taking a wooden stake from his wife.

“Is _Palo Santo_ special?” Tracee questioned, eyeing the stake.

“It’s holy wood from Peru,” Tamara said. “It’s toxic to demons like holy water. Keeps the bastards nailed down while you’re exorcising them.”

“Really…?” The pitch in Tracee’s voice rose in intrigue. “How _useful_. Would we have to go all the way to Peru to obtain such a thing?”

“If you’re truly interested, I wouldn’t mind dropping the number of my contact,” Tamara said.

“That would be lovely,” Tracee replied, smiling. “Thank you, gorgeous.” Tamara raised a brow, but smiled back at the Slayer. Her husband, on the other hand, looked up from what he was doing and scowled. Sam pressed his lips together to keep from grinning. He cleared his throat, gaining Tamara’s attention.

“So, how long have you two been married?” he asked.

“Eight years this past June,” Tamara answered.

“The family that slays together…” Isaac remarked, lightly bringing his hand down to rest on his wife’s shoulder. She responded by leaning towards him, accepting a kiss to her forehead. Sam chuckled in agreement. He glanced at his girlfriend, who had become distracted by some trinket hanging from the ceiling. She lightly touched it, not paying attention to the couple anymore. The smile lingered on his face as he watched her. As though sensing his gaze, Tracee shifted her line of sight to him. She gave a slight smile and a wink, causing Sam to feel trickles of heat rushing to his cheeks. “Oh,” Isaac said, tone surprised. Sam looked back at him. “I guess you get that already.” Grinning, Sam nodded. “To be honest, I thought her and Dean might have been-”

“Disgusting,” Tracee said, expression twisting in revulsion.

“You know, Trace, it wouldn’t actually be _incest_ ,” Dean said, sauntering over because, apparently, he got the information they needed. He snapped his phone shut and stood beside Tracee. “We’re not actually related.”

“The _hell_ we’re not,” she retorted, crossing her arms and frowning.

“I meant by blood,” Dean said as he rolled his eyes. Tracee opened her mouth, probably to repeat her words, but Sam pointedly cleared his throat, drawing her eyes to him. He subtly widened his eyes and pursed his lips. Getting it, his girlfriend shut her pretty mouth. Truthfully, with as much blood that had been exchanging over the last few days, related by blood did not seem too far off. But that was not a conversation to have in front of _strangers_. Especially of the hunter variety. “Anyway, I just off the phone with the pathologist working the case, and—get this—the whole family’s cause of death is dehydration and starvation. No injection sites were found. No ligature marks. No signs of struggle. They literally just sat there and died.”

“But there was a fully stocked kitchen just yards away,” Bobby said in disbelief.

“So, it is supernatural,” Tracee murmured. “But what kind of creature has such a frightening ability? It’s like the instinct to survive was completely stripped away.”

“I’m thinking demon, but we haven’t run into anything like this,” Sam mentioned. “And there was no sign of a demon’s presence either.”

“Well, what now? What should we do?” Dean questioned.

“ _Uh_ , _we’re_ not gonna do anything,” Isaac said. The three of them turned towards the man, showing their confusion. “You guys seem nice enough, but this ain’t _Scooby-Doo_. And we don’t play well with others.” Their temporary abode indicated as such. Still, there was something off. Isaac had lost all signs of warmth. Slight though it may have been, Sam saw the hardening. Clearly, the thought of combining their efforts would be an affront to him. The question was _why_? As if understanding the need for explanation, Isaac opened his mouth again. “No offense, but we’re not teaming with the damn _fools_ who let the Devil’s Gate get opened in the first place.”

One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

“Excuse you?” Tracee was the first to break the silence, but the incredulity in her voice indicated the atmosphere would only descend into straight hostility. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” Isaac snapped back, unbothered by the threat in Tracee’s words. “There are a couple hundred more demons out there now. We don’t know where they are, when they’ll strike. There ain’t enough hunters in the world to handle something like this. You brought war down on us—on _all_ of us.”

“ _Haah_ …” Tracee let out a laugh, but it lacked any mirth. Her eyes sharpened to steel. “No, I heard you,” she said. “I was only giving you a second chance to retract or amend your words. However, it appears that your gorgeous wife married a simpleton.” Offended, Isaac swelled up, obviously looking to respond in anger. Tracee did not give him the opportunity. “Instead of reading the room, you went on to show how _stupid_ you are.” And there was the accent. “How willful and passionate you are for someone who knows nothing. Tell me, would you so confidently blame a stranger for stormy weather just because they happened to be standing in it?”

“That is not the same thing!” Isaac protested indignantly.

“ _Isn’t_ it?” Tracee hissed. “You show your ignorance by forming an opinion about what happened on hearsay. Instead of finding the truth from people who were actually there, you _accuse_ us? Looking at the result of something and choosing to fill in the blanks yourself without confirming anything is idiotic. How is that any different from blaming someone without knowing the facts?” Isaac opened his mouth again. However, Tracee turned to Bobby. “Sir Robert, I suddenly find myself weary of Zazu’s presence. You may carry on with this illogical man, but I will be returning to the task at hand— _actual_ investigation.” With that said, Tracee sharply turned and headed out of the room.

Sam immediately moved to follow. Dean trailed after them, bidding a dramatic goodbye to Bobby. They found her outside, palms pressed against the hood of the Impala. She breathed harshly through clenched teeth. “Tracee…?” Sam slid a hand pass her jacket to cup the small of her back. “Hey, what’s going on?” His girlfriend wasn’t known for irritation because of strangers. Unless they hurt either himself or Dean. Otherwise, she did not care for the opinions of others. “What just happened? You don’t really think he’s right, do you?”

“Yeah, Trace, who cares what that asshole thinks? Like you said, he don’t know what we went through,” Dean mentioned. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Tracee stilled then. For a few seconds, she did not react. Then she slowly turned to face them, appearing startled. “It wasn’t _me_ I thought he would get to,” she admitted quietly. “I know the truth. I understand exactly what happened. We learned of Capital D’s plan, and we went to stop it. We failed, I know that, but we tried our hardest and closed the mouth of hell. We even killed the Big Bad. But when Zazu—some random hunter—accused us of starting this, it made me think that other hunters would come to the same conclusion. _You_ would come to the same conclusion.”

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Befuddlement. Honestly, it had not crossed Sam’s mind of how _others_ might perceive their actions in Wyoming. They had failed to stop the door from opening. That failure made it so hundreds of demons escaped. There were mild feelings of accountability because of that, which was the reason for the continued hunting despite the death of the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

But Sam had not thought himself at _fault_. It looked like neither had Dean. The group of four Slayers and—apparently—four Champions had only witnessed the gate opening. They had not willfully opened it. _Ava_ _Wilson_ had. Even now, thinking of that woman—who still hadn’t surfaced—caused Sam’s blood to boil. Yes, she had saved them in the end, but it had not balanced the horrific deeds she had done prior. If he ever came across her again…

“To be honest,” Dean began, and then sighed heavily. “Him thinking we’re to blame is a shock. Got me wondering who the hell he heard it from. Still, if he thinks like that then other hunters are bound to think the same, too. But that’s not skin off _our_ backs. We might have an obligation to haul up the demons that escaped their prison because, yeah, we did fail. But _I_ know what went down and we’re not guilty of shit.”

“Dean,” Tracee said, blinking twice. “You sound so _mature_.”

“Well, don’t let that get around. I have an image to uphold,” he said with false seriousness.

Sam chuckled and Tracee cracked a smile. She turned her brown eyes to him, expectedly. “Of course I know it’s not our fault,” he told her. “Maybe-” He sighed heavily, losing his humor. “-Maybe if I had gotten to Ava before…” Tracee frowned then, lowering her gaze to the asphalt. “But I know she’s the one to blame for everything that happened in Wyoming. Everything that comes from her decision to open that gate is on her—not us.” Tracee sighed, lifting her gaze again. Sam intertwined his fingers with her, giving a reassuring squeeze. “So, don’t doubt yourself either.”

“ _Mm_.” Tracee squeezed back. “I just wanted-” She abruptly inhaled sharply before turning her head to the right. Instantly reacting to the change, Sam tensed and followed Tracee’s gaze. He couldn’t see much in the dark. The things he could make out were hidden by shadows. Tilting his head forward, he squinted into the darkness. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. This stretch of road seemed abandoned. Eventually, he felt Tracee relax. “Did I imagine that…?” she mumbled to herself.

“What’d you sense?” Dean questioned. “It’s not there anymore?”

“I don’t know what I sensed,” she said, unsure. “It was abrupt and gone in the next instant.” She hummed lightly, causing Sam to turn his eyes to her. “Perhaps… I think the day is catching up with me. Let’s go back to the motel already.”

“You sure…?” Sam asked.

“For now,” Tracee replied.

0-0

A new day brought a new lead. Unfortunately, the new lead centered on a woman savagely assaulting another over shoes. Tracee and Sam stood amongst a crowd of onlookers. Police and Crime Scene Investigators had arrived, surveying the gruesome scene. Blood dried on the windshield of a vehicle. The victim had been taken already as well as the assailant. Judging from the murmuring gossip, it had been an unprovoked attack. As far as Tracee could tell, the motivation had not made sense. _Shoes_ could not really drive a woman mad. Not enough for straight murder. This death stemmed from a human lacking survival instinct. Or perhaps lacking consequence might have been a better assessment. The people involved in this case seem to lose their sense of reason and damn the consequences of their actions.

Yet again, Tracee could not sense anything otherworldly. She could not help but wonder why. If she had not known better, she would call these circumstances isolated incidents. If she had not been exposed to supernatural circumstances, she would have believed the two incidents were unprecedented. After all, statistically speaking things like this did not happen so close together without having a connection of some sort. Time and distance connected them rather closely. However, Tracee knew better. From a logical standpoint and a supernatural one. So then why could she not _sense_ anything strange? Perhaps she was being impatient, but she could really use a confirmation of a solid fact sooner than later.

A nudge from Sam brought her from her thoughts. He tilted his head to the side indicating the small fashion boutique. As there had been many witnesses to the crime, and the culprit had been arrested already, the case for the police was cut and dry. They felt no need to investigate further than the actual crime scene. Leaving any evidence of the starting location up for grabs. Together, Tracee and Sam made their way into the boutique to reunite with Dean. They spotted him talking to a woman with a nametag. She nodded and smiled flirtatiously at him before walking away.

“Laying on the charm pretty thick, aren’t we?” Tracee asked, grinning. “Hope you got something good out of that—other than her number.”

“I got _both_ ,” Dean said, proudly tugging at the front of his dark denim jacket. “She gave me access to the back where we can hopefully spot what led up to the confrontation outside. What about you guys?”

“No sulfur,” Sam announced.

“No suspicious people returning to the scene of the crime either,” Tracee mentioned. “As far as I can see or sense.” Dean sucked his teeth, mildly annoyed, but refrained from commenting because Bobby approached them. The man had removed his trucker hat and donned a tailored suit. “Wow, Sir Robert—look at you!” The man halted at a mirror, adjusting the tie and admiring his own appearance before turning to face them. “You know, I love an intellectual man in a suit.”

“You love an intellectual man regardless,” Dean said. Tracee shrugged. Snorting lightly, the eldest Winchester faced Bobby. “What were you—a G-man?”

“Attorney from the DA’s office,” Bobby corrected. “I just spoke to the suspect. I don’t think she’s possessed. There weren’t any usual signs. No blackouts, no loss of control. Totally lucid. I think she just _really_ wanted those shoes.” The man shrugged. “Spilled a glass of holy water on her just to be sure. Nothing.”

“This instance combined with the family is worrisome,” Tracee remarked. “Usually, I would wait until there is a third incident, but at this rate, waiting would result in more death.” She crossed her arms. “We should look at the footage now. Dean…?”

“Yep. Let’s go!” Dean said, gesturing them further into the store. They followed him into the back room of the boutique. He pointed at a desk with a computer set up with a live feed of the store upfront. Sam immediately sat in the chair, fingers quickly moving across the keyboard. Soon, he managed to bring up the footage for earlier today, and then search specifically for the woman who attacked. Tracee leaned forward behind him and watched the screen closely to pick out anything out of the ordinary. For several minutes, the woman only peruse. She didn’t even attempt to steal anything. Boring.

“You are distracting me,” Sam said, leaning forward, which caused Tracee to lean forward as well. She was pressing against his back, after all. Grinning cheekily, she wrapped her arm around him, hand sliding down his chest. She playfully nipped at the crown of his ear. “This isn’t helping either.” She could hear the smirk in his voice. Behind them, Dean groaned, which only caused their chuckles.

“Would you two _stop_?” Dean groused. “We’re supposed to be working. Four dead bodies, remember?”

“Dean, I can’t help that your brother is so easily teased!” Tracee said, scandalized. “I can only resist for so long.” She did not have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. “Besides, I’m still paying attention. Unlike you, I can multitask just fine.” Speaking of which, on the surveillance footage, she noticed a man approach the attacker as she looked through a rack of clothing. The man casually touched the woman’s shoulder before tilting his head in another direction, towards the victim, in fact. He said something to the woman, and the woman responded by walking away and speaking to the victim. Soon after, the same woman trails after the victim after the purchase of the inciting shoes in questions. “It must be that man. He did something to her. The power of suggestion is not that strong.”

“You think he’s the guy?” Dean questioned, looking at the screen.

“I believe in a lot of things—coincidence ain’t one of them,” Bobby remarked. Sam immediately rewound the footage and clicked to print an up-close snapshot of the man’s face. He then shut down the computer program and returned it to the live feed. Tracee unwound her arm from his body and faced Bobby. “Obviously, the next step would be to look into this guy,” he said, gesturing for the trio to follow him. They did so right out of the boutique. “Dean and I will ask about his whereabouts around town. Sam and Tracee—you two see if you can find a name to go along with the face. Find out if he’s a local or not.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, slipping his hand into hers. “Call one of us if you find this guy.” Tracee nodded in agreement. However, something caught her attention. Furrowing her brow, she glanced at the other side of the street. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. However, she could not deny the strange sensation of prickling behind her ear. It had been the same feeling from last night. This time, it was stronger, but she could not pinpoint where. Not noticing her diverted gaze, Sam began walking to the right while Bobby and Dean headed to the left.

As they walked down the middle of the sidewalk, the prickling traveled down her neck towards her shoulder. Tracee clenched her teeth, forcing herself not to shudder. Whatever it was followed behind just in range of her Slayer sense. However, she could not grasp what type this was. The further she and Sam walked, the more insistent the feeling became, reaching up and settling at the nape of her neck. _Danger_. _Danger_. _Danger_. The prickling dug into her spine, practically shrieking for provocation. Tracee could no longer take the struggle of keeping instinct at bay. She abruptly planted her feet and whirled around to face the dangerous creature.

Like a snap, the prickling vanished. Tracee only managed to catch a glimpse of blonde tresses before a man, carrying two large boxes, blocked her view. When the person passed, she saw nothing and no one. That had not been a trick on her senses, right? Something had been tailing them. Something had to. But why had they not attacked or shown themselves? And what had it been in the first place? What had been the purpose behind the tail? What was the motivation? It did not make sense. It didn’t make sense. _None of this was making sense_.

“Tracee…?!”

She heard the distressed tone in her lover’s voice, but to her dismay, it did not break through the tirade of thoughts pounding in her skull. Her hand reached up, clutching at her chest. It felt as though she could not breathe. It _hurt_ to breathe. Eyes wide, excess liquid gathered and slipped down. Tracee recognized her strained breathing, the way her body trembled, and the pressure of her own thoughts. She recognized it, but felt utterly paralyzed. Too wrapped up in it all to do anything about it. She could barely comprehend any outside stimuli.

Then Tracee felt her back against a hard surface. The abrupt change almost broke through, but it was the feeling of her mouth against familiar skin that effectively snapped her out of the jumble of thoughts. She found herself whimpering as her body wholeheartedly accepted the familiarity. Her mouth clamped harder around her lover’s shoulder. Her incisors pierced his flesh and his blood trickled into her mouth. Oh. Tracee shut her eyes and instinctively sucked. The warmth of his embrace—the scent and taste of his blood—brought her back to reality with ease. Though it had been a jarring experience, it also felt comfortable.

Slowly, all senses returned and focused on Sam. “I got you, Cherry, I got you.” His whispering seemed to echo within her. Tracee opened her eyes, sight somewhat blurred. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. They appeared to be in an alley. They stood chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other in a tight embrace. Despite the familiarity, Tracee flinched and reared back from biting and sucking. Sam had shoved his jacket and shirts out of the way so that she could bite him. So much heat rushed through her body, realizing what had happened. However, her lover had been willing. It mollified her own chastisement somewhat. Sam reared back as well, straightening his form and looking down at her. “Are you okay now?” he asked. Calm. As though a strange occurrence had not happened.

Tracee lowered her arms and licked her lips. How embarrassing to lose control like that… she cut her eyes to the side. “I’m fine,” she murmured. Then she swallowed. “I’m fine…” Her hand reached up and her nails lightly scratched at her neck. “I just… I thought-” Truthfully, she did not know how to explain her actions without leading to further embarrassment. That had been a panic attack. She had never had one before. Seen them, yes, but never experienced it for herself. Most people went their entire lives without having one. Some got away with one or two during their lifetime. Others weren’t so lucky and the attacks developed into a disorder. Tracee swallowed hard at the thought.

“I don’t think you are,” Sam said, drawing her attention. He tugged his shirts and jacket back into place. His gaze, however, focused on her. “But… we don’t have to talk about it right now. Not while we’re in the middle of a job. If you don’t want.”

“I-I can’t…”

“Hey, I’m not pushing you,” Sam told her. He leaned forward, lightly pressing his lips to her forehead. “I have an idea, but… I’ll let _you_ tell me later, alright?” Acquiesced, Tracee hurriedly nodded. She intended to tell him. Really. Once she traversed through the heart of the matter. Sam kissed her forehead again before taking her hand again. “Come on,” he urged.

“Yes,” Tracee agreed, falling into step with him. He led her through the alley back to the sidewalk. “Thank you.”

Her lover had been so patient with her recently. She had put him at arm’s length for nearly a week, and he had only accepted it. It was not fair to him. She knew he wanted conversation—deeper than she had given. But the past week had been hard on her. She had not been used to the feelings that came along with being revived. Yes, she had understood she was not invincible, but for someone to actually come so close—to actually succeed—it might have done a number on her confidence. Therefore, with gusto, she had thrown herself into the ritual. Driving herself to be stronger. Move faster. React quicker. All for naught, it seemed. Sam had been not given one complaint or pushed her before she was ready for that talk. She would make it up to him.

“I love you…” Tracee said, squeezing his hand.

“I love you,” Sam replied, squeezing back.

0-0

Sitting on the passenger side of Bobby’s car, Dean sighed through his nose. His fingers drummed against the dashboard as his eyes watched the bar for any sign of their target. It had been no sign of him for hours. Night had fallen by the time he had gotten a lead from a random woman that had seen the guy frequent this particular bar. Bobby huffed from his position in the driver’s seat. He was probably annoyed with all the fidgeting. Dean could not help it. He was _bored_ and restless. He needed something to do or he would go crazy. Wishing for this guy to hurry up already, he sighed again, making his lips wobble.

“Dean,” Bobby said. Dean immediately stopped farting with his mouth. The older hunter sighed lightly. “What time is it?”

“Seven past midnight,” he muttered, glancing at his watch.

“And you’re sure this is the right place?” Bobby questioned.

“No,” Dean grumbled, remembering his annoyance. “But I spent all day canvassing this stupid town with this guy’s stupid mug, and supposedly, he drinks at this… _stupid_ bar.” He glared at _The Old Terminal Pub_ as though it were the source of all his agitation.

“You know, you’re really starting to sound like Tracee when she’s mad.”

“Shut up! No, I’m not!” Sudden pounding on the car made Dean jumped in his seat. He sharply turned his head to the right to see Sam and Tracee grinning at him. He glowered, trying to ignore the way his heart jumped as well. He had sent a text to them hours when he and Bobby decided to have a stakeout. Honestly, he was not expecting them to show up. He was definitely not expecting the mild heart attack. “It’s not funny!” he exclaimed as his brother opened the passenger door. The two brats only laughed at him. Dean leaned forward to give them room to move into the backseat, but apparently, he was not fast enough for Sam. His brother roughly pushed the seat forward, nearly smashing Dean into the dash. He silently vowed to make them both pay later.

Once they had both climbed in—Tracee first, obviously—Sam began speaking. Rolling his eyes, Dean shut the door. “So, John Doe’s name is Walter Rosen,” Sam announced. “He’s from Oak Park, just west of Chicago. Went missing about a week ago. Probably the same night the Devil’s Gate opened.”

“We believe a demon possessed him,” Tracee continued. “Based on his disappearance and the camera footage. Samuel told me it’s quite strange for a demon to simply touch a human and effect their normal nature. What came out that gate—I think they’re on an entirely new level. I’m guessing that these types of demons were imprisoned for years—decades, centuries—and with most supernatural creatures, with age comes power.”

“If that’s the case, it might explain why a family decided to sit and die, and a woman to go crazy over some shoes,” Dean surmised.

“Shoes weren’t even that cute,” Tracee commented. “I mean, did you see the shade of green? I wouldn’t be caught _dead_ wearing-” She abruptly stopped and took in a shuddering breath. At the same time, Dean noticed a man exiting his vehicle. Closer inspection revealed him as their target. A demon wearing Walter Rosen’s skin. “I can _sense_ him!”

“What? You can?” Dean squinted, watching the man walked towards the bar. He could not see any indicator of demonic nature. “I thought you could only sense demons if they’re flexing?”

“Maybe… that’s another difference with these escaped demons,” Sam suggested. He turned to his girlfriend. “Are you alright?” The concern in his voice caused Dean to look back at them. His brother wrapped an arm around the tiny tank, pulling her as close as possible. Tracee leaned into him and shut her eyes. She mumbled something but even in the compact space of Bobby’s car, Dean could not make it out. “Okay. Do that if you’re sure.” Tracee nodded her head. She then moved away from Sam and grabbed the back of the front seat to pull herself forward. By now, the demon had already gone in. She shut her eyes, face taking on a look of concentration. After a quiet, yet tense moment, Sam spoke up again. “You got a lock on him.”

“Maybe,” Tracee muttered. She opened her eyes. “Not just him. I think there’s multiple demons in there.”

“You can tell now?” Dean questioned. “Since when?”

“Since I don’t know,” Tracee retorted, sitting back in her seat. She crossed her arms and glared. “The question, right now, is why have they gathered here and what are we going to do about it?”

“ _Okaaay_ …” Dean muttered, confused by her sudden agitation. “Well, the original plan would have went something like… tail after him, see what he’s up to—you know, the point of his power of suggestion—and then send him straight back to hell. But multiple demons at once? We didn’t plan for that. Why the hell are demons convening anyway?”

“That still might work,” Bobby mentioned. “He came here alone. He may leave alone, too. Could nab him without the others getting involved. Him or one of the others.”

“Yeah, I don’t think waiting is an option anymore,” Sam said.

“Why not?” Bobby asked. Instead of answering, Sam gestured to the outside. Dean saw Isaac and Tamara exiting their vehicle and heading straight into the bar, seemingly without weapons on them. Crap. “Damn it!” Bobby clearly shared his sentiments. He struck the steering wheel, exasperated by the turns of events. “Alright… New plan. Bust in, save them, grab a demon _if you can_ , and then haul ass.” Dean was already pulling out his gun. “I’ll keep the car running, so do this quickly. Don’t do any unnecessary fighting. None of us are good dead.”

“Let’s get it done,” Dean said. Behind him, Sam and Tracee made determined noises of agreement. Dean opened the car door and climbed out, followed closely by the other two. Together, they quickly and quietly made their way to the entrance of the bar. Coming to a door just outside, Dean tried to open the door. He pushed and pulled but the door would not give. Double crap. It meant that Isaac and Tamara had already sprung the trap. Fortunately, they had a tiny tank on their side. Dean stepped aside, and Tracee immediately lifted her leg in a fierce high kick. Whatever lock had stood no chance against a Slayer’s strength. The doors sprung apart from each other, slamming against the inside walls. Dean rushed in, gun drawn and aimed. “Calvary service…!” he exclaimed, assessing the situation.

Seven pairs of black eyes stared at him. Their human expressions showed shock. They clustered around Isaac and Tamara, obviously trapping them within their circle. Three demons stood between them and their fellow hunters. Four stood behind them. One demon held up a large plastic container of drain cleaner and wrapped an arm around Isaac. Tamara was held back by a female demon with long dark hair. “Tracee…!” she exclaimed, appearing relieved to see said Calvary. The Slayer stepped forward. Sam stepped to Dean’s other side.

“Hello, _gorgeous_ ,” Tracee greeted. Tamara’s relief shifted into flattered. Despite the situation, Isaac immediately glowered. Dean swallowed a laugh. “Now, seven against two is not fair. Allow us to even the score?” The closest one, a bald man, bared his pearly whites at her. “That sounds like a yes to me. _Deus_.”

The Latin word, spoken with intent, instantly caused a reaction with all the demons. They gagged and coughed, staggering backwards. The plastic jug of drain cleaner fell to the floor, spilling its murky yellow contents. The female demon holding Tamara released her in order to wrap fingers around her own throat. Dean took the opportunity to pull the trigger of his gun. The bullet got the one closest to them. The bald demon twisted around, grabbing his shoulder.

Sam reacted, flinging holy water on the demons. They all screamed and cowered, skin sizzling on contact. Sam did not let up the onslaught of holy water. Thoroughly distracted and in pain, they did not stop a rapidly moving Slayer coming their way. She punched and kicked, spinning around like a tornado. Dean could barely keep up with her movement. Two shot towards the bar, including the one that had held Tamara while the others slid across the floor, slamming into the very back wall.

Tracee then grabbed onto the front of Walter’s clothes and lifted her leg. Her foot slammed into the back of the bald demon, sending it hurtling towards the brightly lit jukebox. She then reared back only to spring her head forward to collide with Walter’s forehead. He released a growl of pain, losing function in his legs. Dean wasted no time in smashing the butt of his gun against the temple of the one who stood next to Isaac. Already weakened by the holy Latin word, the demon crumbled. Another hit, using his weight, to the face sent the demon crashing into a nearby table. The table broke under the weight and it, along with the demon, toppled to the floor.

“Let’s move!” Dean shouted. “Now!”

At his command, Sam and Tracee turned to head for the exit. Sam grabbed onto Tamara on the way while Tracee dragged the demon behind her. Dean halted his turn, wondering why Isaac wasn’t moving. The man stared down at the liquid on the floor, gaze as intense as the sun. “Isaac! Baby, please! Let’s go!” Tamara called from the door. Isaac did not seem to hear his wife’s words. Instead, he fell to his knees near the pool of drain cleaner. Dean’s eyes grew wide in shock as the man stuck his finger in the cleaner and brought it close to his open mouth, tongue out and ready to taste. “Isaac, _no_!” Tamara screamed.

“I-I gotta drink… I gotta have it,” he murmured.

Having seen enough, Dean whacked the man on the head as well before grabbing at his shoulders. Isaac faltered but did not prevent Dean from hauling him to his feet and shoving him towards the door. Behind them, he heard the demons shambling to stand. “Sam!” he called. His brother came back, passing by him. Again, he swiped at the air, surely drenching the demons in the rest of the holy water. It gave them enough time to get to Bobby’s awaiting car. He saw Tracee slamming the trunk of the car, having already deposited their target inside. He had to shove Isaac inside the car in the backseat next to his wife. Tracee and Sam entered the car on Bobby’s side. The four squished together, Isaac on top of his wife and Tracee sitting in Sam’s lap. Safe enough. “Alright! Let’s go, go, go, go!” Bobby practically burnt rubber as he sped away from the parking lot and away from the bar.

“Everybody good?” he asked, voice raised with worry.

“Yeah, not a scratch,” Sam answered. “Isaac’s not so hot, though.”

“He won’t stop _moving_!” Tamara exclaimed. With her own shirt, the woman busily attempted to wipte the goo from her husband. “He’s trying to lick his fingers!”

“Better than dead right now,” Dean mumbled. He sighed heavily. “All things considered, I think that went well.”

As though on cue, the night suddenly exploded with light and sound. The car’s occupants swiveled around behind them. The bar was in flames. The fire stretched high and spread wildly. Dean gapped, wondering how the hell. Or had that been the result of the demons’ anger? Then, out of all people, Sam burst with laughter. Then Tracee joined in. Their infectious laughs triggered him, too. As they drove away from the crime scene, hysteric laughter filled the car. Bobby only shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“One of them must have knocked into a gas line,” Sam said, grin lingering. “Or two.”

“There were so many candles,” Tracee pointed out. “Are demons flammable?”

“I don’t think so, but… they are gonna be _so_ pissed,” Dean chuckled.

0-0

Bobby drove until they had reached the temporary residence of Tamara and her husband. It had not taken much work to bring the demon inside and strap him down. On the account of being unconscious. Tracee probably had not needed to strike him so hard to stuff the body into the trunk, but too late now. The demon sat tied to a chair right underneath a Devil’s Trap. He would not be going anywhere soon, so it gave them a bit of time to plan their next move. At the moment, Bobby researched, trying to find any information on the gathered demons. Tracee, Sam, and Dean sat in the same room, awaiting the results. After all, they needed more information before deciding. Tamara and her husband were elsewhere in the house.

Tracee idly twirled a stake in her hand, gaze unfocused. Thoughts of what happened weighed heavily. Perhaps Sam’s earlier suggestion had rang true. The demons from the Devil’s Gate formed an entire new league. They were stronger, so they showed up on her Slayer radar more easily than regular demons. Stronger. More dangerous to what she held dear. More cunning. Therefore, her sense had no choice but to rapidly develop in order to combat the new threat. She could accept that possibility, but she could not deny others.

What if by… dying, her senses became more acute towards demons. Not just these seven, but all. After all, these types of demons were essentially dead. Twisted ghosts. Perverted apparitions without a clear focus. Upon her death, unknowing or not, she had gained a much larger sense of their nature. Because they had become more… _kindred_. The upgrade to sense them stemmed from becoming more like them. It was an uncomfortable possibility that she did not want to accept. Could she, too, forget her humanity? Could she lose herself along the way? Or had she already lost a piece of herself?

How would she even test those theories? Most likely, a random demon would not admit their origin. Whether they had come before or after the gate’s opening. Moreover, what were the chances of coming across another Slayer that had bit the bullet and lived to talk about it? Had Sineya died that way? Or perhaps the one responsible for the activation of all potential Slayers? Or perhaps she was the only unfortunate one to experience something like this. She had no way of knowing right now. Doubtful that her Handbook would cover something like this.

Despite her unease with those possibilities, fortunately, there lied a third. One she could accept whole-heartedly. Tracee stopped twirling her stake, gripping the weapon in her hand. She slid her eyes towards her lover. Unaware of her gaze, Sam continued scouring through compartments and examining items with intense interest. Tracee found herself smiling softly, earlier tension forgotten. Her darling. Her Champion. Her love. His blood not only made her physical stronger, but also enhanced her senses. She could accept that. What’s more, she could test this possibility. Once they were out of immediate danger.

A soft padding caught her attention, and Tracee shifted her line of sight to the room’s entrance. Tamara stood in the doorway, looking mildly disturbed. The distance between her husband and the object of his obsession calmed him down. However, the urge for drain cleaner remained however miniscule. Fortunately, the abandoned house contained no such products. Still, having witnessed the mind control on her husband must have ruffled her feathers. The woman cleared her throat, drawing the others attention as well.

“Isaac’s finally still,” Tamara reported. “I gave him something to dull his senses. For now, it’ll work in our favor and we won’t have to tie him up.”

“That’s good,” Dean muttered, wariness slipping into his tone. “But I’m getting the feeling there’s a _but_ involved.”

“No! No buts,” Tamara said, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s just…” Her dark eyes looked towards the floor. Then they flickered to Tracee. “I am grateful for your help. Without you, I’m sure we would have died.” The woman visibly swallowed. “Still, I saw _how_ you saved us. I’ve never met a human that could do make demons go flying. Only _heard_ about it, but the negative connotations attached-”

“Listen, lady, it doesn’t really matter _how_ we saved your asses,” Dean spoke up defensively. “There aren’t any negatives here as far as I’m concerned. You be thankful and you move on—that’s _it_.”

“Dean, she deserves to know who she’s working with,” Sam said, glancing at Tracee, probably to get an understanding how they should proceed with this eyewitness.

“No, she doesn’t!” he protested hotly. “After tonight, this little formation is done. Like Isaac said, _this ain’t Scooby-Doo_.”

“Dean, I think… it’s alright,” Tracee soothed. She felt his glare on her, but she continued looking at Tamara. “I believe she is different from her husband. I believe she is only curious—nothing more. Is that correct, gorgeous?” Tamara ducked her head and tightened her hold of herself. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to realize I am no demon.”

“Yes, of course,” Tamara said. “But are you a danger to hunters?”

“Only if those hunters attack her,” Dean nearly growled. “Then _I’ll_ be a danger to hunters.”

“I-I see.”

Tracee sighed lightly, warmed by Dean’s obvious protective streak, but finding his apparent hostility in this situation pointless. “Relax, Dean,” she told him. The oldest Winchester merely crossed his arms, glare remaining on his face. “Primarily, I am a force for good. I use my… talents to save the innocent. To slay evil. I pose no threat to hunters as long as they don’t pose a threat to myself or my Winchesters. I am human.” _For the most part_ , she finished in thought. “And I am firmly on the side of good.” After a moment, Tamara sighed heavily, lowering her arms.

“I doubt Isaac will see it that way. Or any other hunter,” she murmured. “But I… I trust you. You saved us when you didn’t need to. Whatever this threat is, I’m glad you’re in our corner. And if it’s a secret to be had, I will keep it until the end of my days.”

“Thank you,” Tracee said, tilting her head in acknowledgement.

“Yeah, Tamara—it means a lot,” Sam put in.

“As long as she doesn’t go blabbing to other people,” Dean grumbled to himself. “We’ve got enough on our plate already without adding _witch-hunt_ to the mix.”

“Speaking of a lot on our plate,” Bobby spoke up. The three of them turned to the elder hunter in unison. “You won’t believe what we’re dealing with.” He walked closer, book in hand and brow wrinkled. A heavy sigh left his mouth and he appeared pale. “There were exactly seven of them, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “You know who they are?”

“It’s the _Seven Deadly Sins_ —live and in the flesh,” Bobby stated.

“Oh my god!” Tracee whispered. “You serious, Sir Robert?”

“Like a heart attack, cupcake.”

“What’s in the box?!” Dean suddenly exclaimed. Everyone turned his way, baffled by his amusement. The grin slipped from his face. “Brad Pitt? _Se7en_? No?” Tracee rolled her eyes and cracked a smile. Dean stayed making movie references. When no one spoke in the following awkward silence, he clicked his tongue and huffed. “All of you are so uncultured. It physically hurts.” Not at all amused, Bobby slammed the book shut and aggressively handed it off to Dean. “What’s this?”

“Binsfeld’s _Classification of Demons_ ,” Bobby stated. “In 1589, Binfeld ID’d the seven sins—not just as human vices but as actual devils.”

“The sins…” Sam muttered. “That family must have been touched by Sloth. And that woman must have been touched by Envy.”

“And Isaac was touched by Gluttony then,” Tamara said. “How do we stop them?”

“These demons haven’t been top-side in half a millennium,” Bobby pointed out. “We’re talking medieval— _Dark Ages_. We’ve never faced anything close to this, so we need to think carefully about our next move.”

“You don’t think exorcism would work?” Tracee asked.

“Well, they’re not just gonna line up and wait for their turn,” Dean said. Tracee stuck her tongue out at him. “I think they’re gonna show up for Envy in there. Probably won’t stop until we’re dead. But we have the advantage right now. A fortified building and lots of things to take care of them. We split them up, we can do this.”

“There are six of them and six of us,” Sam mentioned. “I think it’d work.”

“Right on,” Dean said, smirking.

“What if Zazu isn’t up to par?” Tracee questioned.

“Then you can take his— _ah’doi_!” he said. Again, Tracee stuck her tongue out. “Right now, let’s see if we can get something out of Envy.”

“Yes, sir,” Tracee responded with a shrug.

“… You all sound so confident going up against demons,” Tamara remarked as they moved to exit the room. “Let alone these particular demons.”

“Honestly… I feel like we’ve had worse,” Sam said. “So now, this is just… child’s play.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Bobby is only hyping them up,” Dean put in. “They’re fossils. Past their prime. Just like him.”

“I still hope you feel that way when you’re the first to go,” Bobby retorted.

“We’re good company,” Tracee told her. She gave a secretive smile as the three entered the room where the demon sat trapped. “Truthfully, I have the upmost confidence in my Winchesters. And they in me. Not even… death… can stop us. And I guess we’re just starting to realize that.” Tamara said nothing in response and entered the room. Hm. Was it that strange to others? Shrugging, Tracee made her way into the room as well. “Still not awake yet?” she asked upon noticing the slouched form of the demon.

“Hell, Trace, I think you could have been a little gentler,” Dean said. He slapped the back of the demon’s head. Apparently, another strike was all the demon needed to regain consciousness. “Rise and shine, Envy.” It took a beat, but the demon sat up straight and eyed his five captors. They watched him in return, circling the form he had chosen. “Sorry about the rough wakeup call, but I’d like to take care of this problem as soon as possible.”

“So… You know who I am, _huh_?” he asked, seemingly self-assured.

“We do. We’re not impressed,” Bobby countered.

“Why are you here? What are you after?” Sam probed. The demon fell silent and only stared back at him. Dean untwisted a cap to a flash. Perhaps the demon did not notice the action. However, he surely noticed when Dean flung holy water onto him. He screamed out as the liquid burned him. “I’m not going to ask again,” Sam stated.

“W-We… We already ha-have what we want,” Envy panted. Slowly, he turned his eyes to Sam again. “We’re _out_.” A chuckle left him. “We’re free. Thanks to you, my kind are _everywhere_.” He chuckled again. “I am legion, for we are many.” Tracee refrained from backhanding him. “Me? I’m just celebrating. Having a little fun.”

“Fun…?” Tamara repeated through clenched teeth. “You were going to make my husband drink something to liquefy his insides… for fun?” The woman literally trembled with barely contained rage. “No other reason?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Envy confirmed proudly. “Some people crochet. Others golf. I like seeing people’s insides… on their outside.”

“I’m gonna put you down like a dog,” she told him, coldly.

“Please!” He laughed at her threat. Then gave her a nasty smile. “You really think you’re better than me? Which one of you can cast the first stone, _huh_?” The demon raised his voice, looking at each one of them. His eyes settled on the oldest Winchester. “What about you, Dean? You’re practically a-a walking billboard of gluttony and lust.” The accusation made Dean reared back, blinking rapidly.

“Who me?” he asked, feigning offense. “ _Couldn’t_ be. Not me.” The demon paused, as though he had not expected protest. “I have a _healthy_ dose of all those things, thank you very much.” The demon furrowed his brow. Then his eyes looked to Sam.

“What about you?” For some reason, Envy stuttered a bit. “You act like a golden boy, but really you’re just another pillar of-of pride?” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me, golden boy, what has that pride wrought for you?”

“You talking to me?” Sam made a show of looking to the left and right. He shrugged a bit. “I think you’re grasping at straws here. If I have to pick, I’d say I’m a combination of rage and lust. On a bad day.” Then he looked thoughtful, glancing at Tracee. “Or a very good day.” She gave him a sly smile and he returned it with a slight jerk of both eyebrows.

“Dude, can you not flirt when we’re in the middle of working?” Dean griped.

“We don’t get paid for this, Dean.”

“ _Shyeah_ , so don’t go all _professional_ on us,” Tracee agreed.

“Would you three _focus_ please?” Bobby asked, clearly frustrated by the antics.

Stopping herself from giggling—it was a bit fun to annoy the older hunter, too—Tracee stepped forward, drawing the demon’s attention. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You seem to be having an issue getting a proper read,” she observed. “You sounded unsure with Dean. You posed it as a question for Samuel…” She tilted her head to the side, furthering examining their captive. “Tell me, demon of envy, can you get a proper read on me?” He stared into her eyes, and in his eyes held confusion and shock. “Ah. I didn’t think so.” Tracee reared back, straightening her back. “So, here’s the deal. I’ll ask you a question, and if you answer truthfully, I’ll sate a curiosity you have.”

“Why do we have to offer this clown a deal?” Dean asked. “He’s our prisoner. We should be able to ask all the questions we want without giving anything up.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Sam said. A conversation passed between brothers, and Tracee recognized the silent argument. However, clearly, her lover had already figured out her intention. Eventually, Dean huffed, silently agreeing. “So, that’s what we’re doing. Go ahead, Tracee.”

“Thank you, my love,” she replied.

“Like hell I’m going to cooperate with you!” Envy sneered.

“Do you know what waterboarding is?” Tracee questioned, circling her prey. The demon flinched. “Because I have no qualms with using that method against you. And it won’t be regular water. It’s gonna _sting_.” Envy clenched his jaw and said nothing more. “Right then. What I want to know is something I’ve been thinking about ever since Yellow-Eyes died. He told Samuel and Dean that the best of his… Special Children will suffer no rival. He intended to have everyone else killed off. However, he said that _after_ the gate had already opened. That tells me he intended for the sole survivor to do or be more. The demon army, if you could call yourself soldiers, was only a plus but not his true goal. What else did Capital D have in store for whichever one of them survived?”

The demon chose not to speak. Without asking, Dean flung more holy water. The sizzle and smoke could not compare to the howls of pain. Envy panted through clenched teeth, growling and hissing under his breath. Dean swiped the flask again for good measure. “Our king!” Envy shouted. Tracee reared back, surprised. Out of all things, she had not been expecting _that_. “The general of our army. The harbinger of the downfall of humanity. He would lead us—unite us—and make this world our own version of Hell. Ruling for eternity, enslaving and destroying all humans. Our king who we’d follow without reservation. That… is the true purpose… of _you_.” His eyes glared at Sam, which in turned, caused all eyes to look his way.

Sam clenched his jaw, but for the first time in a long time, Tracee could not read his expression at all. It was a void. However, she knew this news must have been shocking to him. He could accept being a keyring. He could accept being a soldier. But the actual _King of the Apocalypse_? It was more than just switching sides. It was his nightmare come to life. Something Sam had struggled with for the better part of knowing him. Now, this demon had brought it all back.

“But that yellow-eyed bastard is dead,” Envy continued, causing Tracee to look back at him. He laughed outright. “And we don’t have to bow down some watered-down version of a demon. A _child_.” He scoffed. “All of you won’t survive for much longer. We’re gonna find you. We’re gonna torture you. _We’re_ gonna destroy any chance of a human becoming our leader. We’ll take this world ourselves.”

“You can certainly try,” Dean snapped back. “But you’re gonna be in for a rude awakening when you do.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Envy questioned sardonically.

“Somebody else better tell him,” Dean said. “Because if I tell him, I’m gonna hurt his feelings. All _one_ of them.”

“Tell me what?” the demon growled out.

“Why your telepathy doesn’t seem to work on us,” Tracee supplied. “You stand before _Champions_ , demon.” Envy sneered again, obviously not grasping the implication. “Champions of a Slayer.” At the mention of her title, the demon’s lips parted. Fear rushed to his face as he stared wide-eyed at her. “I suppose this means that my Champions have certain immunities to your abilities. Good to know.”

“You… Yo-You’re a Slayer?” Envy asked, stumbling over his words.

“Yes, I am,” Tracee answered simply. “I suppose you haven’t been topside long enough to know, but there isn’t just one girl in all the world now. _I am legion, for we are many_.” The demon, not amused with having his own words used against him, began struggling in his binds. “You won’t have to worry about me too much longer, though. You seem to have the mentality of a parolee—one that cannot abide by certain conditions. Having your _fun_ before… the inevitable return to your prison. Despite your legend, you must be so far down the chain that your presence doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. How _disappointing_. I expected better from one of the _Seven Deadly Sins_. Thank you for the information you have provided, though. Much appreciated.”

“The others—they’ll come for me,” Envy threatened. “There’s no where you can go to escape them.”

“Yeah, they’ll probably come—packaged deal and whatnot,” Dean admitted. “But they won’t find you.” Envy looked his way and Dean allowed a smirk to cross his face. “Cuz we’re done with you. You’ll be in hell.” The bravado immediately left the demon’s face. “Don’t worry—we’re sending them packing soon, too.”

“Who wants to do the honors?” Tracee asked.

“I will,” Tamara volunteered. “It’d be a pleasure.”

With that firmly taken care of, Tracee backed away from the demon and focused on Sam. He hadn’t said anything in response to the grim revelation. She would understand his reaction of distancing himself for the moment. But… Tracee walked in his direction, faintly aware of Tamara beginning the exorcism and the pained groans of the demon. However, she did not care. Her fingers intertwined with his, seemingly snapping him out of whatever trance plagued him. Sam blinked rapidly before his gaze fell on her. Tracee opened her mouth, but he beat her to the punch.

“We should prepare,” he said. Tracee pressed her lips together. “Afterwards… Just afterwards, okay?”

“Yes, my darling. Of course.”

0-0

Sam could feel Tracee’s eyes on him. He felt Dean’s gaze, too. As they loaded guns and sharpened wood, his brother and girlfriend continued staring. Sam kept his sighs silent. He understood their wariness about him. After all, he had blown up before. Kept a lot of things inside until they viciously exploded. He understood their worry. But it was a lot to take in at one time. The Yellow-Eyed demon meant for him to lead the army in his stead. The Demon called Sam his favorite. The one he wanted. Out of all the people who had gone through his barbaric competition, Sam had been chosen. Chosen to set the world on fire and bring about the Apocalypse. He… just needed time to wrap his head around it. Just not right now. So, he tried to ignore the looks from his companions and finish his task of allocating the holy water.

The lights began flickering. Lights that should not have flickered because this was an abandoned house. Sam tensed, looking towards Dean. His brother cocked his shotgun and stood up from the floor, obviously realizing what it meant. Then Sam heard the sound of a radio. The signal was distorted and mostly static, but he recognized the tune and lyrics. Ironic. “Here we go,” Dean said. Sam nodded and stood up as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his girlfriend also stand, fingers firmly grasping a stake. Together, they moved closer to the windows. Peering through the boards, Sam could not make anything out in the dark. He could not see any moving shadows. “Alright, everybody, remember the plan,” Dean reminded. “Focus on your own unless someone downstairs calls for help.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied.

“Got it,” Tracee said. They were to provide help if the others could not contain their demons downstairs. Hopefully, it would not come to that because Isaac was out of the loop of Sam and Tracee’s superhuman abilities. Regardless, they would help in any way they could in order for all of them to survive the night. Tracee suddenly inhaled sharply. “They’re here,” she announced. As though cued, the radio abruptly cut out. Sam noticed a single form approaching from the dark. He recognized the man in plaid that Gluttony possessed.

“ _IIIIIIsaaaaacccc_ …!” With blackened eyes, the demon stepped closer. The way he crooned Isaac’s name made Sam flinch. “You never finished your drink on the house!” He stopped just beyond the stairs of the porch. Sam noticed the large plastic container of drain cleaner. “It’s rude to deny a bartender’s offer. Isaac! Come out here and get your drink!” Did that mean Isaac could still be tempted? “You’re just gonna leave this out here?” Gluttony continued. “You’re just gonna let this go to waste? I suppose that’s what you do—you and your wife. Like that night at your house. You let those demons waste your daughter right and proper, didn’t you?” A daughter?! Damn it! Sam had not asked how they became hunters, but that seemed the answer. Avenging a dead relative. Of course. And of course the demons would use it against them.

“You son of a bitch!” Tamara screamed. Sam heard dash of footsteps, and then the front door opening. “How did you know that?!” Down below, Tamara tackled the demon to the ground, along with her husband. Her stake dug deeply in the demon’s chest, causing him to drop the drainer and roar in pain. However, Isaac scrambled to reach the fallen jug.

“Showtime!” Dean said, backing away from the window.

Tracee did the same, leaving Sam in the room behind himself. Quickly, he curled his finger, focusing on the container. With a swipe of his hand, he threw the drain cleaner far away from Isaac’s wondering hand. He would have to hope the distance was enough to prevent the older hunter downing the contents. And hopefully, he could still fight whatever demon tried to come for him. For now, Sam had to get into position and focus on his own role. He moved towards the adjacent wall, looking upward to make sure he stood beyond the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Not a second later, the door flew off its hinges and soared through the room before crashing into the wall.

Then a man in a suit sauntered in, eyes completely black and menacing. “Here’s Johnny!” he greeted. Sam refrained from rolling his eyes. His brother probably would have giggled, though. Steadying himself, Sam backed up, lifting his arm to show the flask of holy water. The demon only stepped forward, unbothered by the sight. However, he abruptly stopped and grinned. His eyes looked to the ceiling and he scoffed. “Come on,” he said, fixing his gaze on Sam again. “You really think something like that is going to fool someone like me? I mean… _me_?”

“Let me guess—Pride?” Sam questioned, though he was a hundred percent sure.

The demon nodded his head, smiling wickedly. With a gesture of his hand, he caused the building to shake and cracks to form in the ceiling. Sam clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. “The root of all sin,” Pride said smugly. He took a step forward again. “And you… are Sam Winchester.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s right. I’ve heard of you. We’ve all heard of you. The prodigy. The boy king.” Sam found himself flinching. “Looking at you now, I gotta tell you—don’t believe the hype. You think I’m gonna bow to a cut-rate, piss-poor human like you?”

“Actually,” Sam interrupted whatever else the demon intended to spout. He smirked, and the arrogant smile on the demon’s face faltered. Sam lifted his hand, curling his fingers into a fist. “That’s _exactly_ what you’re gonna do.” He bent his arm, jerking his fist down. Completely taken off guard, Pride fell to the floor, knees slamming hard against the surface. The demon gapped at him, looking shocked beyond measure. Scoffing lightly, Sam tossed the flask aside not needing it anymore. He uncurled his hand, holding his fingers out, palm towards the demon. He so easily held him in place. This demon was nothing compared to Yellow-Eyes. “See, you don’t have to believe the hype to _kneel_.”

“Y-You…!” Pride struggled against the invisible binds.

Unaware of it, Sam’s eyes flashed yellow. He lifted his other arm, fingers moving to spread the demon’s arms out. Honestly, he had not thought he could pull this off. But he felt it. He _felt_ he could. There was power flooding his system, flowing through his veins. Even when he helped kill Yellow-Eyes, he hadn’t felt this powerful. He wondered if it was the extra blood. Probably. His Slayer’s blood already proved to be a reagent of enhancement. Sam stared down at the demon, watching fear take over his expression. For someone embodying pride, he sure switched demeanors quickly. Frowning now, Sam brought his hand down hard and fast. The demon plummeted to the floor face down.

“Apparently, you _haven’t_ heard of me,” Sam continued. “So, let me explain something to you. I’m not your boy king. I’m not your general. I’m not your fucking herald to the Apocalypse.” He lowered himself to pick up the book from the floor. He opened it where the bookmark lied. On the pages were words of an exorcism ritual. “What I am is… a Champion. And I take that role very seriously. So when you get back to hell, tell them Samuel Winchester sent you.” With that said, he began reading off Latin words. Pride shouted in pure agony, helpless to do anything about it.

\--

Unknown to Sam, a woman with long, curly blonde hair stood outside the door, back pressed against the frame. She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow, expression apprehensive. Then she shook her head and pushed herself from the wall. She turned to the left, going further down the hallway of the second floor. The screams of demons being ripped from their vessels echoed throughout the house as she moved.

\--

In another room, Tracee sidestepped to the left, narrowly avoiding a sharp punch. She ducked, just missing a strike from behind. Greed and Wrath attempted to fight her at the same time. However, she practically danced around them. Yes, they felt stronger and faster, but they could not carry a true fight. They lacked any set of physical skill that could pose a threat to a Slayer. She supposed being trapped in hell made them stagnant. Still, she was having a difficult time of it. Wrath had destroyed the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling, so subduing them to perform an exorcism seemed unlikely right now. Her only hope was to keep them occupied until one of the others came to this room. Otherwise, she would have to kill their hosts. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay her hand.

Then a lucky shot threw her off balance. The punch to the chin made her stumble backwards into the awaiting arms of Greed. The woman grabbed her arms, pinning them in place. Wrath advanced on, teeth gleaming. The bald man visage was even more menacing because of the black eyes. Grimacing, Tracee used the iron grip on her to lift both legs. Her left foot halted the demon’s advance. The other tagged his shoulder. The same shoulder Dean had shot previously. Wrath howled as he spun around from the force of the kick. He fell to the ground, a good distance away.

Tracee then sharply reared her head back, knocking it against Greed’s face. The woman shouted, loosening her hold. It was enough slip from the grasp. The Slayer lowered herself, palms against the floor. She extended her leg and spun around, knocking Greed off her feet. Keeping the momentum, Tracee grabbed the stake from the waistband, and then flung it towards Wrath. The stake embedded deep within his shoulder and nailed him to the wall near the door. It would not kill the human, at least. Now, she could try to subdue Greed without too worrying about Wrath.

She turned just as the woman stood up. Tracee blocked a thrown punch, fingers wrapping around the fist like paper. She then twisted the woman’s body, forcing the arm behind her back. Greed screeched and struggled, but she could not escape. A prickle behind her ear caught the Slayer’s attention. Like a new presence detected. No. Not new. Hurriedly, Tracee turned with Greed to face the doorway. What she saw was another woman. Blonde and slender. The unknown woman went over to the restrained Wrath and pulled a knife from a leg holster. The knife appeared like a Bowie. However, it was smaller—custom-made. The blonde used the knife to slit the throat of Wrath.

Gasping, Tracee watched as the open wound seemed to glow. She saw the silhouette of veins. Like a fire erupted in the body. “YOU!” Greed roared, apparently recognizing the blonde-haired woman. The woman sharply turned, and then dashed towards them, knife clenched firmly in her hand. Quicker than her mind told her, Tracee halted the path of the knife before it could reach the belly of Greed. She wrapped her hand around the woman’s wrist and glared into startled hazel eyes.

“Who the hell are you?!” Tracee questioned.

“I’m the girl that’s trying to save your ass!” she retorted.

“No!” Tracee growled. “You’re just another _demon_!”

The same demon that had been flickering in and out of her senses. The signature presence differed from the _Band of Seven_ , though. The woman’s eyes grew wide, obviously thrown by the assessment. Using her distracted state, Tracee removed her fingers from her wrist, bringing up her hand in a powerful fist to the face. She must have hit harder than needed because the demon soared through room, body crashing through the wooden planks and glass. Tracee shuddered lightly before kicking at the back of Greed’s leg. The woman fell to her knees, and Tracee hurriedly wrapped an arm around her neck. She pulled another stake from the back of her pants, the Palo Santo, and shove it into the demon's mouth. Holding Greed in place, she began to speak in Latin—memorized lines from an exorcism.

Even as Greed snarled and struggled, Tracee continued until the end, thoughts swirling wildly with the nameless demon that had supposedly tried to save her. Finally, she got to the end. The demon’s smoke form forcibly left the mouth of its host, causing the wooden stake to shoot across the room. Screeching loudly, it flew through the busted window. Tracee dropped the unconscious woman and quickly headed to the window. Looking down, she saw no sign of the blonde. She huffed in annoyance and confusion before shifting her eyes to the open door. The host that held Wrath died from his bleeding wound.

“Damn it,” she grumbled, and then took off to check on the others.

0-0

The next morning, Dean found himself dragging an unfortunate body to a pit. Sam did the same with another body. Tracee sighed heavily, leaning on a shovel. The tiny tank hadn’t even worked up a sweat, but she appeared troubled. Well, two more deaths took place on their watch. Tamara had killed the demon—Gluttony—inhabiting some poor bastard during his exorcism. Fortunately, with the demon gone, Isaac no longer wanted a swig of death. He returned to his normal self. Right now, husband and wife were elsewhere, having said their goodbyes to hit the road again. The demon had apparently brought back memories they had not worked through themselves. Why they became hunters in the first place. Dean grimaced. His heart went out to them, but he hoped they wouldn’t cross paths again. Tamara was all right—albeit, reckless—but Isaac seemed like a certain type of hunter. And he would not have that type around his brother and Tracee.

Sighing lightly, Dean began pouring gasoline on the two bodies in the pit. Sam poured the salt. Once done, they tossed the containers aside. Tracee stood up straight, reaching into her jacket pocket for a book of matches. She stopped, noticing Bobby approaching. Dean and Sam turned his way as well.

“Well, _you_ look like hell warmed over,” Dean remarked as the older hunter came to a stop in front of the pit.

“ _You_ try exorcising all night and see how you feel,” Bobby muttered.

“Any other survivors?” Sam asked.

“The suit and the brunette will make it despite a few broken bones,” Bobby answered. “So will the heavy guy and the pretty one. Despite the burns. The one that held Envy has a concussion, but he’ll pull through, too. Lifetime of therapy bills, but better than these poor saps…”

“How exactly does a knife kill a demon?” Tracee muttered.

“How does a gun kill a demon? How does your katana?” Bobby replied. Point taken, the tiny tank exhaled sharply through her nose. She struck a few matches before tossing them in the pit. “Only a week ago, I would have said there was no such thing. Right now, I don’t have those kinda answers.” The man sighed. “But I’ll be on the lookout for them. The world may have gotten scarier overnight, but I’ll be damned before I sit back and do nothing to prepare you for it. You kids stay safe.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Sam said. “You, too.”

“I’m sure we’ll visit soon, Sir Robert,” Tracee said. “I have a package on the way.”

“Stop sending your crap to my house,” Bobby retorted as he walked away.

After he was gone, the three of them watched the flames, making sure the fire burned the unfortunate evidence. Dean almost sighed. Two was better than all seven in this case. Still… It could have been just the one. Maybe. “Alright, I’m just gonna ask again—who was that mask chick?” he questioned, turning eyes on Tracee. He noticed her frown deepen. “How’d she even get that kinda weapon?”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Zazu, but she was a demon,” Tracee stated. “I’ve been sensing her for a little bit. Since we started investigating this case.”

“So she didn’t just vanish like you said?” Dean guessed.

“I punched her through a window,” Tracee replied, shrugging. “ _Then_ she vanished.”

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled.

“I guess the most troubling question is why would a demon try to save you?” Sam asked, mirroring his girlfriend’s frown. “I don’t like that.”

“I’m not trying to be biased here, but I can’t say I’m feeling warm and tingling from her claim,” Tracee agreed. “Perhaps I acted too rash before she could give more information, but…” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I sensed her, but I doubted myself, and… I had a panic attack.” She ducked her head as though embarrassed. “No matter how much I did my ritual this past week, it didn’t stop those feelings from overwhelming me. I felt useless and I’m not sure if it will happen again.”

“Trace…” Dean murmured, surprised. No wonder she had been agitated earlier. He hadn’t seen the panic attack, but he knew something like that must have hindered her. _What good am I to this life, to you, if I am too scared to act_? She had said that previously, and he wondered if fear had something to do with it. One again, he mentally berated himself for not saving his Slayer when it mattered. “You think this demon might trigger another one?”

“Maybe… I don’t know,” Tracee answered. “I just wish I had answers…”

“I won’t let it happen again, Tracee,” Sam told her. “And if you have another attack, I’ll be there just like the first time.” He reached for her, and Tracee unwound her arms so that he could take her hand. “I don’t care what else came through that gate, I won’t let them hurt you.” The vow caused a smile to form.

“Same here,” Dean put in. “You got us, Trace. Don’t forget that. We got each other’s back until the end of the road.”

“I know… Thank you,” Tracee returned, smile growing. “Still…” She heaved a heavy sigh. “You think this is a war we’re up for?”

“What’s another war?” Dean shrugged, turning to head towards the Impala. “Been there, done that. Right now, we’ve got three objectives. Find Cassie. Kill the son of a bitch that took her. Find your sword. This war, if you want to call it that, is just the backdrop. We’ll help out if we can—if we need to—but it’s _not_ the primary.”

“The _literal apocalypse_ is the background now. Okay, dude,” Sam said, following with Tracee at his side. Despite the words, he sounded amused. “Where to next?”

“How about… New Mexico?” Tracee suggested. “Gorgeous told me her contact for _Palo Santo_ is there. I figure since I’m without my katana, and there are extra demons running around, then we should stock up on weapons that could cause damage.”

“Alright, New Mexico!” Dean agreed. “Let’s go grab some wood.” Both Sam and Tracee stared at him, eyebrows raised and grins on their faces. “Yeah, yeah—heard it as soon as it was out. Get in the car.”

0-0

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, I hope other chapters won't get this long.
> 
> Anyway, all episodes are not created equal, so I don't expect I'll be covering every single episode, though season 3 is shorter than I imagined.
> 
> I'm not touching this story again until I finish _Sins of Another_ , so this extra long chapter is just gonna have to hold you off for a little bit.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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